


Shadow of the Bat

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Gaslights [4]
Category: Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018)
Genre: Aftermath of Stressful Situations, Batman getting his creeper on, Dove needs a vodka shot it's been a long night, Gen, Jason's asleep for this, which is probably good you know he'd sass the Batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: The Bat moves into the flickering light, just a little, and murmurs, “Don’t be alarmed.”Really.“You broke in, snuck up on me-in these times, no less-and expect me to not be alarmed.”





	Shadow of the Bat

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place following ‘Narrow Streets and Narrower Escapes’. Because of course Bruce knows what went down.

AN: Takes place following ‘Narrow Streets and Narrower Escapes’. Because of _course_ Bruce knows what went down.

* * *

The rain, which up until about thirty minutes ago was content to be a light drizzle, is coming down in icy sheets. _Supposedly_ there’s an officer standing guard outside, but Dove will bet everything she owns (and Hell, why not everything Cobblepot owns) that said officer has retreated indoors and will not be helpful if something happens.

Nothing new.

The wind’s shrieking against the window panes-already threw a not-quite-latched one wide open, that had been an unasked-for fright-and she’ll be astounded if Cobblepot leaves the club to drive home in this. He won’t put the horse through it. He’s funny that way.

It doesn’t matter, really. The boys are asleep, everything’s locked and bolted, and she’s taken the liberty of borrowing one of the revolvers, the one that lives in the hall table, just in case. Although, really, if Jack’s got half a brain he’ll have gone home rather than skulked about here.

Maybe Gotham will get lucky and he’ll catch his death of cold.

She’s reading by the fire, listening to the wind bang a tree limb (it had better be a tree limb) against the house when Jason appears in the doorway like a wraith and scares her half to death.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“Dick’s a clingy bastard and Timmy ‘bout choked me.” he grumbles, but it doesn’t sound like his heart’s in it and she’s willing to bet the answer can be boiled down to a simple, _nightmares._

She lets him save face, though, and doesn’t argue.

“C’mere.”

That’s enough invitation for him to squirm under her arm, elbows tight against his ribs.

“T’anks.”

“How’re you doin’, hon?”

He shrugs, nightshirt (one of Cobblepot’s softer day shirts, really) slipping off his shoulder. He yanks it back up with an irritated, “Damn _thing_ …m’okay. Be back to work in a few days.” She suspects Dick’ll lay down the law and keep him down for another week, easy, but that’s neither here nor there. “Whatcha readin’?”

“ _Treasure Island_. You’d like it. S’got pirates.”

“Mm.” He yawns and makes himself more comfortable before tipping his head up to look at her. “Please?”

Her willpower is not strong. It’s a fault of hers, she knows it well.

“All right, sweetheart.”

She sticks a ribbon in and turns back to the beginning. Jason makes it through two chapters, maybe a little more, before nodding off. She’ll carry him back up there in a little bit, she figures, maybe when Cobblepot gets back. For now, though, she just tugs the blanket off the back of the sofa and tucks it around him before returning to her spot.

It’s been maybe another twenty minutes when there’s a noise, and at first she thinks it’s her boss after all, but then the thought crosses her mind that it’s someone else.

_Shit._

She twists around, sees nothing, and twists back-only to find there’s someone in the room.

The Bat.

She can barely make him out-he’s found the one damn corner that the fire doesn’t quite reach-but she can see enough. He’s, uh, bigger in person. She thinks some of it must be the body armor (?), and the…cape…coat…thing…, but not all of it-the way he stands says that he’s a formidable man in his dressing-gown. He’s relaxed, at the moment, shoulders loose and palms open, but that doesn’t offer much reassurance when his very presence is a horrid surprise.

She’s heard he doesn’t kill people. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t _maim_ , and she’s not sure if she should wake Jason or not. The Bat moves into the flickering light, just a little, and murmurs, “Don’t be alarmed.”

Really.

“You broke in, snuck up on me-in these times, no less-and expect me to not be alarmed.”

He chuckles, and all right, so she doesn’t have to wake up Jason.

“My apologies.”

And he sounds like he means it. Not like a lot of men. One of these days she’s going to punch that damned Harvey Bullock right in the mouth, just you watch. And she won’t be apologizing for it.

“Why are you here.”

“I understand you met the Ripper tonight.” Ah, so the stories are true, at least to an extent-the Bat comes down for the criminals. “You got away from him.”

“Barely.” She closes her book at last. “I didn’t see much of him, before you ask. Big. Like you. Top hat. He had a meat cleaver, and at least one little knife, ‘bout this big.”

She measures and feels skepticism radiating off him.

“How close were you?”

“Oh, the little knife came outta this one.” She jerks her head towards Jason, who doesn’t stir. The Bat stills and as cliché as it sounds, the air freezes. He tips his head towards the boy, stiff and almost mechanical, and growls, **“What.”**

“He got too close, apparently.” She holds up the hand not cupping Jason’s elbow in placation. “He’s always been too nosey for his own good.”

The air warms, a little, but the Bat does not relax.

“Did he see anything?”

“A murder. I don’t know if he saw anything else.” She doesn’t like being loomed at, but something tells her he’s not going to sit down. “I’m not waking him to ask him.”

The Bat is silent. Jason makes a small noise and presses against her ribs, sleeves unrolling enough to peek out from under the blanket, and she moves a bit so his bones aren’t digging into her so much. It’s easy to forget, with all his bluster and energy, that he’s still a boy, just two years older than Tim. Not that any of them are really children anymore, but…

“You were lucky.”

“We were all lucky.” She gives him a bitter smile. “Thank God. They clear the streets and don’t put anyone out there to catch the bastard.”

“Where is the knife.”

She should give it to Cobblepot. He has a vested interest in this, he won’t get bored or distracted.

But.

But a man in a bat costume (and it’s barely that…has he ever seen a bat?) might be just odd enough, _obsessive_ enough, to do the job.

“My boss’s desk. I’ll get it for you; I have to take Jay back up to bed anyway.”

“I’ll carry-”

“He doesn’t know you, you’re likely to get bit.” What little she can see of his face is…puzzled. He’s not used to Lower Gotham, then. Maybe he’s not even local…but only the locals are crazy enough to do things like this in the first place. “When you wake up to strange men lugging you around, that’s always bad.”

“Hn.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering to pick Jason up without waking him or injuring him further, but she manages, in the end, with only a sleepy sigh and a bit of twitching for her efforts. She’s not sure if he’s got stitches or not, but Took’s wrapped him in bandages all the same-they’re rough under his shirt, catching at the fabric.

Lucky, indeed-either they’d have been caught or they’d have tried to fix this on their own, and that would have either ended abruptly when they nicked something important, or slowly and horribly when he ended up with an infection. Neither is a nice thought.

She’s not thrilled with the idea of leaving the Bat alone down here (though, really, if he wanted to look around, he didn’t have to announce himself), and she heads for Cobblepot’s study first. He lurks in the doorway, probably seeing more than he ought, while she gets the desk open and manages-quite handily if she does say so herself-to get the knife out without slicing her finger open or dropping Jason on the floor. The blood’s dried, now, and she has no idea what the Bat’s going to do with it.

“Here.” she says. “Good lu-”

Jason’s secret talent is Timing-either amazing or horrendous, with no middle ground. She’s not which one it is, now, but it doesn’t matter-his eyes flutter up to half-mast and he mumbles, “Miss Marquis…?”

Shit.

“Shh, Jason.” She shuts the desk. “M’just puttin’ ya back in…bed…?”

The Bat’s gone, and when she wanders into the hall, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Huh.

She’ll mention this to Cobblepot, later, so he can do something about the security, but for now she’s got her hands full.

“C’mon, up we go.”

“’Kay.” He folds into her arms a little more, blinking sleepily in the dim lighting. “Was someone ‘ere?”

“No,” she says, and he yawns, hands curling against his chest. “no one. Go back to sleep.”

“Thought I ‘eard voices.”

“Just a dream.”

He’s out, breathing deep and even, when she settles him back between Dick and Tim. They’ve moved, a little-Tim’s face is now smashed into the pillow and Dick’s leg is thrust off the side of the bed at some unnatural angle*. Fine. Whatever. She’s not about to wake either of them-they’re not at risk for suffocation or falling, and they’re _quiet_.

She pulls the blanket over Jason and turns to leave-just as _something_ big clears a gap between rooftops across the way.

Well. Maybe the Ripper won’t chase anyone else down tonight, not if that’s after him.

And maybe…maybe that’s what it’s going to take. One crazy man to chase down another one.

_Good luck, Mister Bat. Good luck to you._

THE END

 

 

 

*No one will convince me that Dick, in any and all worlds, is anything but a starfish sleeper. _He has to be._


End file.
